


The Meeting of Ways

by rotrude



Series: The Portrait in the Tower [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Era, Declarations Of Love, Knighting, M/M, Magic, Magic Reveal, Not Canon Compliant, Relationship(s), secret nobility
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 07:39:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3166841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotrude/pseuds/rotrude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With new knowledge surfacing, Merlin and Arthur have to negotiate the truth and their relationship to both their past and present.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Meeting of Ways

Arthur tries to chase Geoffrey out of the archives on the pretence he needs to study some documents on the King's behalf. At first Geoffrey lingers, haunting the periphery of the premises. He cranes his neck and stands on his toes, following Arthur about with his eye. Arthur can't so much as get his bearings without being spied upon. At last Arthur pulls rank and gives him the boot. 

Once he's sure he's alone, Arthur starts on the inner section of the library, the one only Geoffrey has access to. He takes down books, scrolls, raises a sea of dust he coughs at. He places the books he collects on a large table that sits in the mids of an ample room lined with shelves. 

He opens one after the other. He finds histories that are surprisingly vague about the years immediately preceding and following the Great Purge. He finds annals that only go back to the deeds of his father. He flips the pages of biographies that only relate to kings and queens of no magical lineage.

“There must be some trace of them,” Arthur says aloud, his voice ringing out in the empty chamber. “They can't have been erased from history.”

Tax records that have been partly expunged do yield some more information in the shape of names and titles. On the basis of them Arthur can tell that there were once families who held vast properties on territory that nowadays belongs to Camelot. They paid their duties; they owed military service in return for some of the benefits they enjoyed. The service they rendered is not specified however. Arthur believes it was linked to their use of magic.

None of the names belongs to families still extant today. 

“They were all wiped out,” Arthur says as he tries to count the numbers, understand how far the purge went. 

But there's no gleaning that from a quick scrutiny of a single tax return book. He can't gain any understanding from so little.

He looks around the room. “There must be more.”

Arthur takes down more books. He selects heavy tomes and lithe tomes and a variety of loose papers and vellum sheets. But it's when he lifts a little leather bound book that the entire book case creaks and swings back like a door. It reveals an inner chamber that looks dark and smells dank. Arthur plunders it for more texts. 

These ones are entirely different from the ones available in the other parts of the archive. To begin with he immediately stumbles into a spell book he closes the moment he realises what it is. He also finds a history of magical creatures, a herbarium that lists plants considered unlawful, and a collection of tales all dealing with magical subjects.

But the parchments he discovers last are what he's really been looking for. They're genealogical trees of the great houses of Camelot, including the lines of dragonlords that once flourished in the land.

The ink is faded and now looks russet rather than the black it must originally have been. But the name Balinor sticks out at the bottom of the most ornate parchment. It has marginalia in the sides and the names are written out in a careful cursive script that's all minute flourishes and whorls. While Balinor's name is the last, his ancestry goes back for centuries. Name begets name begets name in a seamless line that was broken when Balinor was killed. 

But it wasn't broken, not really, because Merlin's still out there. “There's so much you need to know,” he breathes out.

 

**** 

Merlin is pushing Arthur's travel trunk into his chambers. He's bent over, arse up in the air. Since he'n not lifting it, he's driving gouges in the stone floor that will stay there even after a thorough scrub.

Normally Arthur would make an observation about either one of the two items. He'd have teased Merlin about his small arse, or about the mess he was making. But the words die in his throat, the more so since Merlin just shoves and pushes, grunts, but makes no remark, has no piece of repartee to share with him.

Finally, Merlin tows the trunk sucessfully into the room. He looks around for a place to shove it and Arthur's quite surprised. Merlin's been known to leave Arthur's things wherever they land. 

This time Merlin huffs and puffs until he's got Arthur's luggage safely stowed in an alcove. When he's done with that, Merlin starts sorting out Arthur's dirty things. He toes and froes with determination etched on his face.

“You don't need to do that right now, Merlin,” Arthur says, and while he tries to sound as detachedly superior as possible, it doesn't come out quite right and he comes across as unesttingly concerned.

Merlin grimaces. There's a sheen of tears in his eyes that Arthur's luggage most certainly didn't put there. “Never put off until tomorrow what you can do today.”

“Merlin.”

Merlin rolls his sleeve and starts reordering Arthur's wardrobe.

 

***** 

As Merlin fastens Arthur's belt around his middle, his head is bent, his lashes are down and his lips are bit to the quick and pressed together.

“Leave it, Merlin,” Arthur says, needing Merlin to stop fussing.

Merlin steps back. “Sire.”

And that's it. Arthur's had it. All day long Merlin's looked like he's on the verge of tears. To be sure, he's been like that for much longer and Arthur can't take it anymore. This is not Merlin. Merlin is bright and cheeky and even if he's tender-hearted he's never maudlin for long. “Something's wrong.”

“Nothing is.” Merlin smiles. It's thin but it's there. “Promise.”

Arthur wants to believe him, but he can't quite yet. Still, he can't address what's wrong either, not without further thought. He lets it slide, but only for now. “Well, if nothing's wrong, you can fetch me my velvet jacket from the top of the wardrobe.”

Merlin's cheeks dimple for a second. “Yes, sire.”

 

***** 

 

Arthur moves the food on his plate around and watches Merlin as he goes to the kitchens, an empty jug dangling precariously from his fingers. There's a slump to his shoulder, and he shuffles tiredly onwards, with none of the bumbling energy he usually displays.

“Something's wrong with him,” Gwaine tells him. 

Arthur picks up his goblet, tightens his grip on the stem. He drinks before answering. “Yes.”

“We should do something.” Gwaine's gaze lingers on the archway Merlin passed through even if Merlin is long gone.

Privately, Arthur agrees. But since he doesn't know what Merlin knows and what Gwaine does, he doesn't want the latter to charge in. This is delicate and potentially dangerous. Arthur's father may be ailing, but he still makes the law. “It will all be forgotten tomorrow. You know how Merlin is, a sensitive blushing flower.”

“He's in trouble.” Gwaine's jaw stiffens. “And if you're ready to overlook it, I'm not.”

“Gwaine.”

“He bottles it all up more than he lets on,” Gwaine starts again, going for the kill even if he must know Arthur could have his balls for it. “He needs his friends' help and if you're too high and mighty to lend it, well, then I'll do it.”

If Gwaine had expressed any other sentiment, he'd be on his way to the stocks right now. But he's said what he said for reasons Arthur can sympathise with, so he tells him, “Gwaine, remember who you're talking to.”

Gwaine doesn't seem willing to simmer down, so Arthur takes the temptation out of the equation. “I've had enough food and entertainment for tonight. I'll retire.”

He rises and, following the scuffing of his chair, so does everyone else at table. 

 

***** 

Merlin grabs Arthur's tunic and lifts it over his head. Arthur studies him and when he can't hold it in anymore, says, “You knew, didn't you?”

Merlin stops fastening Arthur's trousers, his head snaps up. There's a slight widening to his pupil that's quite tell tale. “About what?”

Arthur exhales, pins Merlin with his gaze. They're so close he can breathe Merlin's breath and detect any change in the rattling out of it. “About your father.”

Merlin's mouth opens. Arthur doesn't know whether he's startled, preparing to lie, or to tell the truth. “He's...”

“Now you'll tell me that he's dead and you wouldn't be wrong, would you?” Arthur doesn't know where the harshness in his tone is coming from, why he sounds so wounded. 

Merlin's eyes flash and Arthur can't tell whether it's with fear, understanding, or sorrow. “He is dead.”

“How long has he been dead?” Arthur continues. “How long have you known he was?”

Merlin's gaze darts to the door, and now he looks like a deer at bay. 

“What do you think I'm going to do to you, Merlin?” Arthur rattles out a big sigh.

“When we were at the castle,” Merlin says, not strictly replying to Arthur. “You told me about the picture.”

Arthur doesn't say anything. He just raises an eyebrow.

Merlin covers his mouth with his hands, steps back, his shoulders up like hackles. His eyes are bulging and wet, getting more red-rimmed by the second. “I am sorry.”

“What for, Merlin?” Arthur asks, and his voice is low and thready, but it's just as good because he doesn't want to make it a shout.

Shoulders rounded, Merlin shakes his head. He looks away, shifts his weight, then finally his gaze slides onto Arthur. “Not telling you.”

Arthur has a hard time reconciling all his feelings regarding Merlin. Merlin's current tones and looks aren't helping. On the one hand Arthur wants to put a hand on Merlin's shoulder, and give some kind of comfort, the comfort he can, man to man, provide. On the other Arthur wishes he could punish Merlin for his silence, because that silence hurts some place in the region of Arthur's heart. But he doesn't do either. “You could start now.”

Merlin startles, as if he hasn't conceived a confession possible. A tremor takes him. It's subtle but it's there. He wets his lips, but at last he starts talking. “I didn't know... before. When I first discussed my dad with you I wasn't lying.”

Arthur doesn't believe Merlin was, but then again what does he know? He's always thought Merlin a completely open book and it turns out he isn't. “But at one point you learnt the truth, that he was alive.”

Merlin nods. “Gaius told me.”

“When?”

“Right before we went looking for him,” Merlin says.

“So you knew when he...”

Merlin's voice breaks when he says, “When he died? Yes, yes I knew then.” He grimaces. “In the end, as it turned out, I didn't get much time to get used to the idea of having a father.”

This time Arthur knows which one is the appropriate response, “I'm deeply sorry for your loss, Merlin.”

“I- uh...” Merlin's chest heaves and with the motion comes a great sob.

All other questions Arthur might have harboured become irrelevant in the face of the way Merlin looks. His face is scrunched up in sorrow and though he isn't crying he looks like he's merely a step away from it. “Merlin,” Arthur says.

Merlin sucks in a big breath, chest emptying and filling. He looks like he's on the verge of saying something but at the last second he pulls back. He wipes at his eyes with his both his plams and shoulders past Arthur. 

The door closes on him with a dull thud.

 

***** 

Arthur sends Geoffrey on an errand. There's a castle in the north; it belongs to Uther and has no library. Geoffrey is to set up one. Geoffrey doesn't like the mission, protests that he's too old to take it up. If he thought Geoffrey truly ailing, Arthur wouldn't despatch him there, but Geoffrey sounds more put out than really fatigued, so to the north it is with him.

In the interim, the archives are to be guarded by Camelot's knights, who report to Arthur and obey his every order. It's easy then to have some unsupervised access to the library. 

He pockets a few rolls of parchment and slips them under his tunic.

 

***** 

Arthur's quick of pace when he enters Gaius workshop. “Is Merlin here?”

Gaius is bending over a pot that's bubbling and smoking. “I'm afraid not, sire. He said he had to run an errand.”

“An errand?” Arthur asks.

“Yes, and he was very mysterious about it too,” Gaius says. “I thought it had something to do with you.”

“No,” Arthur says, wondering where Merlin is, if their talk the other day has influenced his actions now. “ He hopes he isn't off brooding somewhere. I didn't give him any to run.”

Gaius' brow gets pinched.

“Never mind that now,” Arthur says, not sure Merlin would want Gaius to know how upset he really is, what is troubling him so deeply. “I just need to pop into Merlin's room for a second.”

“Merlin's room?” Gaius looks as though he thinks Arthur has no business in there.

“Yes, indeed,” says Arthur, marching with a lot of bluster towards said room. “I just need to leave Merlin a message.”

“I'm sure, sire,” Gaius says, his eyebrow going up, “that you can trust me with relaying whatever message you're thinking of correctly.”

“Indeed I'm sure.” Arthur pushes open the door and gets a glimpse of the mayehm Merlin daily lives in. “But this'll just take a moment.”

Arthur steps over piles of Merlin's discarded clothes and past a set of mug, bowl and candle that have been left on the floor.

Merlin's bed has been haphazardly remade, the top blanket more taut on one side than on the other. That's just as well; nobody'll notice, Arthur thinks, as he lifts a pillow and slips the parchments underneath. 

***** 

 

Arthur deposits his scabbard on the table, undoes his belt and walks to the window.

He's halfway over to it, when Merlin dashes inside. He's breathing fast as if he's run all the way up to Arthur's chamber, which, upon reflection, he probably has. “Was it you?”

“Was I what, Merlin?” Arthur asks with a nonchalance he doesn't feel, because he both dreads and welcomes whatever Merlin's about to say.

“The one to leave those documents under my pillow?” 

“Yes.” Arthur squares his shoulders. “Yes. I was.”

“Why did you do it?” Merlin asks breathlessly.

“Because you have a right to it,” Arthur says, knowing he will fail to articulate what he means even as he tries. “You have a right to know who your father was and where he came from.”

Merlin swallows, nods, balls his fists. “In spite of your father's laws?”

It's hard to say, hard to do. Denouncing his father is not something that he'd thought he'd do. But because of the King's choices Merlin's had to mourn in silence and alone. His words are the only token of support Arthur can offer. “Yes. In spite of it, because of it. Because what was taken from you was something every man has a right to.”

“There is something else I have to say.” A tendon in Merlin's neck twitches and his face tightens.

“Go ahead,” Arthur says, his heart skipping a beat in expectation and taking up its rhythm with a painful jarring kick.

“I have magic.”

 

**** 

Two Years Later

 

The castle's turrets poke out from a barrage of foliage. Arthur pulls on the reins, stills his mount, holds his arm up to signal to the others they should halt too.

Arthur fills his lungs and says, “Merlin and I are going forward and Merlin and I alone.”

“Sire,” Leon objetcs, “ought we not escort you? There might be dangers we don't know about lurking in every corner.”

Arthur spies Merlin's hand gripping the reins tight. He doesn't know what to say. He prompted this, but can't yet control the reactions of his men. That will take time, time for understanding to sink in, time for peace to be forged. “Just because the castle used belong to magical people, it isn't a dangerous place.”

“Your Majesty,” Leon says.

“We are going alone,” Arthur says, “and that's final.”

Part of the crenellation has caved in as has part of the bailey. The granary stands roofless and the bridge is up, barring entrance, its chains rusty. 

“We'll have to find another way to get in.” Arthur wishes Merlin would be able to see the place. It's only fair. “Maybe if we circle round --”

“No need,” Merlin says, pushing his hand out. His eyes glow gold and the bridge comes crashing down, raising dirt and dust. “Sire.” Merlin gestures him forwards.

Arthur laughs. “Show off.”

“It takes one to know one.”

 

***** 

The hall is cold and dirty but wide and high-ceilinged. Stone pillars break the open space. Windows open at regular intervals in the stone. Once, stained glass would have adorned them. Now they gape open, the wind whistling through the openings.

Merlin has his head tilted back and is staring at the ribbed roof, at the high dais in the distance.

“This was the seat of of your forbears, Merlin.”

“It's a ruin,” Merlin says, but there's no sadness to his tone. He doesn't sound as if he wishes the situation to be different. 

“It was laid to waste after your father became an outlaw.” Arthur knows enough by now to be able to reconstruct the place's history, and that of Merlin's family. “And it hasn't been occupied since.”

“It's... an unsettling place.” Merlin wanders round, his soles crunching on the masonry debris scattered on the floor. “But I do wonder what my father thought of it.”

Some questions, Arthur realises, will never have an answer. They can' raise the dead. Thet can't go back and change history, but they can turn a new page, build a better future. “Kneel, Merlin.”

“What?” Merlin blinks.

“Kneel.”

“Arthur, what--”

Arthur takes his sword out of his scabbard, crosses over to Merlin. “Trust me.”

Merlin goes on his knees. “With everything that I have.”

Arthur looks down at Merlin, his heart expanding in his ribcage at the look of faith in his eyes. He touches his sword to Merlin's shoulder and Merlin's eyes widen. Before he can object, Arthur says, “Arise, sir Merlin. You're henceforth a knight of the realm. I restore to you your lands and titles. You're a prince of the land.”

 

**** 

They shouldn't sleep here. As is, the place is indefensible. It's quite cold and offers no comforts. But in spite of his early fish-out-of-water behaviour, Merlin lingers. The change probably occurred during his roamings around the premises when he found a box full of memorabilia. The box is full of books with notations, magical paraphrenalia, and, stunningly enough, animal figurines. Merlin's been toying with them ever since.

When the light outside starts to fail, Arthur steps in. He sits on the edge of the bed next to Merlin. “We should probably go.”

Merlin strokes the snout of a wooden dragon. “Yes.”

“You can come back,” Arthur says. “The castle is now yours to do with as you please.” 

“What?”

“You can renovate this place.” Arthur waves his hands about. “Make it habitable.”

Merlin purses his lips. “I don't want a castle.”

Arthur laughs. “It comes with your new title.” 

“I don't want that either.”

Arthur breathes in. “Merlin, I don't know how else to make reparations, how to--”

Merlin puts a hand on his mouth, it's warm, dry, his fingers callused at the tip. “You don't need to.”

Arthur tries to talk in spite of the pressure of Merlin's hand on his lips. “As King--”

“When I told you about my magic it was because I couldn't lie anymore but also because I wanted to put it at your service.” Merlin drops his hand. “If you send me away, I can't do that.”

“Merlin, what sort of king would I be if I didn't change things now that I can?”

Merlin looks sharply away and Arthur doesn't know how to reach out.

“That's not the point,” Merlin says in a low, restrained tone Arthur remembers well from the days of his first confessions, his clear breasts about magic, his pleas for forgiveness.

“It's very much the point,” Arthur says, even though Merlin's just sowed doubt in that theory. “This is a start, a symbol, something tangible people will see.”

“Legalising magic was.” Merlin tears upright. “This isn't.”

“I thought you wanted to reconnect with your roots,” Arthur says, failing to understand. “You can't tell me you weren't doing that just now with those carvings.”

“That's different.” Merlin half turns around, facing away, then swirls round in place. “That's completely different.”

Arthur stands. “I only meant to honour you.”

“That's no way to do that when I only want to be by your side.”

“Merlin.” Arthur makes another try but he can't say this one is as heart-felt as his previous one. If Merlin doesn't like the honours Arthur wants to shower on him, then so be it. The last thing he wants is to bring Merlin pain. “You're turning a good offer down. I just don't get why.”

“Because,” Merlin says and his face twitches wholesale as if he's in pain, “I want to be with you!”

Understanding dawns. Perhaps Arthur has been slow on the uptake. They've had years to work over their issues, Arthur's shame over the magic situation and Merlin's lies. But they've never – at least Arthur never has – dared to look at their relationship for what it is. The moment it sinks in, what it's always been like, his heart fractures under his armour. There are no reparations he can make for this, for his blindness, but he can act now before he can break Merlin's heart some more, before he can damage his irreparably.

His legs feel like lead when he takes the first step, it's like jumping across a chasm with little chance of making it to ther other side, but take it he does. He cups Merlin's face, glove on and all, and reels him in by the nape. 

He dives for a kiss, a collision of lips on lips that manages to melt his insides on the first touch. It might be ill advised, it's certainly not thought out at all, but when Merlin kisses him back, opens out to him soft and slow, Arthur realises he's never wanted anything more. 

They touch tongues, fret their lips into tingling redness by rubbing and sliding them one against the other. That's nothing to the blooming ache that swells in Arthur's chest. It's like the pieces of him that were scattered and broken inside him are shifting and reconnecting. He thinks the kiss will stop his heart and kill him outright, but he doesn't mind too much. “Took you this long to own up,” he says at last, his heart's gone wild in his chest.

Merlin sniffles. “I could say the same of you.”

“I'll concede the point,” Arthur says, and though his voice comes out steady, his grip on Merlin is rather more shaky than it ought to be. For crying out loud he's a knight and a king and he's faced battles, conquered terrible odds and given speeches in front of clamouring multitudes. He should have this, but he doesn't. He feels as green as youth facing his first challenges. Still he muddles on, “But from now on I want you to tell me everything openly.”

“I want to put my magic at your service,” Merlin says as though it's all quite simple. “I want to use it for you and Camelot.” He breathes out and his nostrils flare. “Above all, I want a chance to be with you, as in....” Merlin stammers, rolls his eyes at his own stammering. “Because I'll never be fonder of any other royal cabbage-head as I am of you.”

Arthur kisses Merlin. “I can work with that.”


End file.
